Six Months
by dreamergirl090
Summary: John doesn't show up to a crime scene. Lestrade wonders if John and Sherlock had a row. Molly knows it's more complicated than that. Complete.
1. Molly knows

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the show I write about below.

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><p>Where is your other half?" Anderson quips as Sherlock walks into the crime scene with Lestrade. Sherlock doesn't even turn around when he speaks to Anderson. It's not worth all of his energy.<p>

"Anderson, go amuse yourself with something easy…. like why is the sky blue or is that, even too hard for you to comprehend?"

Sherlock doesn't wait for a response, he just moves forward. Lestrade however turns around and gives Anderson a very pointed look of _Leave. Haven't you learned anything?_

When Anderson leaves and Lestrade walks into the crime scene, Sherlock is already taking in his environment, all the while clicking on his mobile.

"So why is the sky blue? You don't know about the solar system."

Sherlock's mouth twitches. "Irrelevant." He continues to observe the scene.

THICK DUST

GREEN SOCKS

NEW FRONT TOOTH

SMELLS LIKE ….

"Actually, where is John?"

Sherlock shakes his head. "Not here, obviously."

LIKE FRESH POT OF COFFEE

3:14 AM on BROKEN WATCH

SPLIT LIP

"Yeah." Lestrade pauses, "But he wasn't here last week either. Did you guys have a row or something?"

BRUISED NAIL, PROBABLY CAUGHT FROM FRONT DOOR.

"No. Maybe you should call him if you are so interested Lestrade. He does have another job."

CURTAINS DRAWN

WINDOWS DUSTY

TIE UNDONE….

"You and I know he doesn't go to that."

Sherlock is beginning to lose focus with the constant interruptions. His fingers stop moving across his phone. His brain is put on pause for split-second so he can ask Lestrade a question.

"Do I have kick you out too?"

Lestrade stops talking. He doesn't even shout to Sherlock that this is his crime scene because he needs Sherlock to solve the cases just as much Sherlock needs the cases to live.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

At the lab, Sherlock and Molly work silently together. Sherlock glances over to see that Molly's mouth is half-open, about to ask a question.

"Molly, what?"

She closes and opens it again this time to speak. "Noreen saw John yesterday."

Sherlock doesn't respond. He just reaches forward for the next sample.

"I could've passed it to you." She frowns. Sherlock continues to ignore her.

"Noreen says he looks really good. Great, since you know all things considered."

Sherlock lifts his eyes from the microscope and stares at Molly.

EYES NOT LOOKING AT HIM

LIPS QUIVERING

FOOT TWITCHING

"Good perspective?" He doesn't say it in a hopeful way as to continue this dismal conversation. He says it in his usual sarcastic way. He knows this Noreen must be lying.

FIDDLING WITH THUMBS

TENSION IN HER EYBROWS

FRUSTRATION IN EYES

Molly sighs. "I think he does look good."

PAUSE IN HER TONE

"It's still early." Sherlock tries very hard to not roll his eyes.

"Molly, please don't give yourself into this delusion." He then sighs. "Stage Four Pancreatic Cancer is a death sentence. Being a pathologist, you should know this."

She doesn't speak up. She wants to ask, does John think this? Do you think this? She notices later that he has labeled a sample wrong for the first time...ever. She still says nothing.

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><p>This could be more with little one-shots and drabbles revolving around the six months... who knows the outcome though, Sherlock doesn't have to be right. Like all writing it just comes to you and you just want to write it. Clearly I love to write horrible things about characters. Review, constructive criticism is good too!<p> 


	2. Good Day or Bad Day?

Disclaimer: Do not own anything...

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><p>Sherlock is cautious every time he walks into his home. He never knows if it's a good or bad day.<p>

HORRIBLE 80's MUSIC IS ON

COUCH IS EMPTY

TELEVISION IS OFF

He undoes his scarf and leaves it on the couch.

"John?" He calls curiously. He knows he can't be home by himself because John is always environmentally friendly, always shutting off the electronics.

"Kitchen." He hears his friend's voice which is obviously coming from the kitchen.

He decides it must be a good day and continues to the kitchen. He hates bad days. Bad days make him feel anxious.

STOVE IS ON

EXPERIMENTS SHOVED TO THE SIDE.

Sherlock's mouth frowns. "My experiments?"

John chuckles. "Sorry, I was doing real cooking today. I just moved them." He points to the edge of the table where he has stacked them precariously. Sherlock walks to the stove to size up what is being cooked.

UGLY SWEATER

SOCKS ON FEET

RUFFLED HAIR

"Stop deducing how my day went." John scoffs. "I had a good day."

Sherlock ignores him. "Your wearing socks."

"Sherlock, my feet are cold."

DOCTOR'S APPOINMENT TODAY

CHEMO TOMORROW

Sherlock says nothing. "I'm starving."

"Don't you ever cook?"

"No. That's why I have you."

DEEP FROWNLINE

"And Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock adds quickly. "You both keep me fed when I need to eat every three days."

DEEP FROWNLINE IS GONE

Sherlock sighs inwardly. Human emotions are so difficult.

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><p>Right so there you go. Thanks for all the alerts and favs. Reviews and constructive criticism always welcome. -J<p> 


	3. The First Day

A.N. I'm sorry for the confusion if you all got story alerts. I did have up a third chapter, but I was unhappy with it. I was trying to do drabbles, but it didn't feel right going out of order. This one is a little longer. Hope it makes up for the confusion. Texts are italicized to differentiate from deductions.

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><p>They are both sitting at the table, drinking their coffee and tea. John thumbs through the paper. Sherlock flicks his attention toward him.<p>

TAPPING HIS FINGERS TWICE, NERVOUSLY

TEA CUP IS STILL HALF FULL

"Are you all right?"

"Fine."

"You don't seem all right."

"Drop it."

Sherlock sighs. "You coming today? I think Lestrade misses you." He teases John.

EYES BLINK, TRYING TO THINK HOW TO RESPOND

"Tell him. I'll see him next week. This week isn't a good week."

SLIGHT NERVOUS CHUCKLE.

Sherlock nods. "Do you need someone to-" He leaves the sentence hanging.

John looks up from his drink. "To pick me up?"

Sherlock shrugs which means yes. _Yes, that was the rest of my question_. He looks at John in the eyes.

HESISTATION

UNWILLING TO SAY YES

"Sherlock, are you actually caring?"

"It's a yes or no question, John."

"I'll text. All right?"

This seems to be the best answer for them. They go back to their breakfast.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Still no John?"

"Lestrade, call the bloody man yourself if you have such attachment to him."

"I will."

He glances at the DI. He knows right away that Lestrade won't.

Sherlock wants to check his phone, but he knows there won't be a text for a couple hours.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

In the middle of crime scene, Sherlock feels his phone vibrate. He immediately pulls it out.

_FEEL LIKE SHIT._

Sherlock immediately knows this means John is subtly hinting for a ride. He stares at the body before him.

WOMAN

25 YEARS OLD

VEIN MARKS, TWO ON EACH ARM

"Lestrade, the woman was in a relationship with her druglord. Quite obvious with the overdose and all." He flips up his collar. A case solved in record time, he believes.

"You leaving?"

"Yes. I solved your case. I have somewhere to be."

He doesn't even let Lestrade respond. He's already out the door, hailing a cab.

x-x-x-x-x

Sherlock walks into the upper levels of Saint Bartholomew's. He's surprised John picked this place, but mostly it must have been out of convenience.

He's about to walk down to the counter when he sees Molly, meeting him halfway.

LAB COAT STILL ON

SMILING NERVOUSLY

"Sherlock! You came? It's always a bit rough the first time."

"Molly. Talking too much."

SIGHS

GLANCES ANXIOUSLY AT HIM.

"Noreen…"

"Who the bloody hell is Noreen?" He whispers harshly back as they walk down the hallway. This is the second time this woman has been mentioned.

"I'm Noreen." Sherlock looks up.

NURSE SCRUBS

GENTLE SMILE

SHE ALREADY KNOWS WHO HE IS

"Nurse Noreen" he says.

"Sherlock Holmes." She says. "Follow me."

He doesn't even respond. Molly follows after him. He doesn't ask why she does. Even a sociopath like him knows Molly is just too nice of person.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Sherlock's eyes do not take long to find his friend. The room is empty except for John and another woman watching a show on her telly. She's grimacing and trying to smile the same time.

John looks half-asleep.

"Really, John? I had to come and get you. I was in the middle of a crime scene."

Noreen is about interrupt to tell Sherlock to be a little kinder, but Molly shakes her head. This is how the two of them manage.

John just looks at Sherlock. Sherlock sees it in his eyes.

TAKE ME HOME.

TIRED

NAUSEOUS

TAKE ME HOME. PLEASE.

"Molly, would you get the door? I think Doctor Watson needs some help."

He hoists John up so he has someone to lean on.

LEGS ARE UNSTEADY

JOHN IS HEAVY

"I think we'll take the elevator."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

After finally hailing a cab and sitting John in the back seat, Sherlock sits next him.

John looks at him.

"Why do you look so cross? You just didn't have massive amounts of drugs flooding through your system. God, I think I'm going to be sick."

He covers his mouth. Sherlock sighs as he leans back in his seat. "Why would you put yourself through this? You're going to die in six months. Why would you live the rest of it with all those drugs? Oxaliplatin. It isn't even the good kind. You're a doctor. I thought at least you would know not to do this to yourself.

He doesn't look at John. He can tell by John's posture that he is annoyed.

"Damn it, Sherlock. Don't tell me how to live my life. The reason." His voice is muffled. Sherlock looks up.

HEAD IN HANDS.

CRYING?

GOING TO BE SICK?

"Because damn it...I'm not done with my life."

Sherlock responds back with five words. "We're back at Baker Street."

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><p>Oxaliplatin is a type of chemo drug. It is one of the drugs commonly used to treat pancreatic cancer. Side note: I have no idea where this story is going at this point. So come along for the ride, I guess. Thanks for all the story alerts again.<p> 


	4. Tea

Side note: Oxaliplatin is a type of chemo drug which was used in the last chapter. It is one of the drugs commonly used to treat pancreatic cancer.

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><p>Sherlock is sitting at the desk in the living room, typing away on his laptop at the desk. He knows ever since they come home that John's bedroom door is still closed. He can't see it, but he knows.<p>

There's a knock on their door. Sherlock doesn't look up, he doesn't have to guess who it is.

It will be Mrs. Hudson.

"Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock nods in the general direction of his landlady. He finishes typing a sentence and then looks up.

KIND EYES

JUST GOT A HAIRCUT

FINISHED MAKING DINNER

WANTS TO TALK

"Dear, I think we need to talk."

"About?" Sherlock is full aware what she wants to talk about. She's knows just as much as he does. Sherlock was the first to know and Mrs. Hudson was the second.

"_John, do you really think telling her, will make it better? Now she'll never leave us alone." _

"_She's family just as much as Harry is and you know, Mrs. Hudson treats me better, so she should know. I'll tell her to leave you alone if that helps."_

"_It does."_

Sherlock groans- John's message did not get across. He clearly is not going to be left alone.

She walks in, sits on the couch and pats is. Sherlock sighs. He can't say no to this woman. He begrudgingly walks over and collapses next her.

"Sherlock."

"Hmm…" Sherlock doesn't want to hear this.

"You know John and I, we love you for who you are. Even when you shoot the walls or have body parts in the fridge."

Sherlock looks at her.

CONCERN

MOTHERING

"However, this is about John. This is the same John who puts up with your violin playing at 3 in the morning and your incessant need for a case, just to name a few. You're his friend, right?"

Sherlock just nods. This conversation is getting painfully human. He can't get away from it. She's sitting too close and she will prevent him from jumping up to get away.

"So start acting like it." He blinks. He is surprised by Mrs. Hudson's words. She has scolded him before, but always playfully. She usually is sweet on both them in that mothering way, but not - talking like this. She is stern, serious in how she says it.

"He doesn't feel well. He won't feel well. Make him feel better."

Sherlock still doesn't know how to respond. He's glad she didn't ask him about his feelings with this whole situation. That's one conversation he does not want to have with anyone. Mrs. Hudson sighs. She grabs him by the hand. He doesn't pull away.

"Come along dear, I'm going to teach you how make a good cup of tea."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Now let it steep." Mrs. Hudson tells him as she pours the hot water into the pot with the tea leaves.

Sherlock is perfectly aware how to make to tea, but he just chooses not to. He doesn't tell Mrs. Hudson this. He let's her continue her mothering routine.

"I don't know how John likes his tea…" She begins to murmur as she pulls down a cup from a shelf.

Sherlock knows. He's watched his roommate do it for the two years. John must have about four cups of tea a day. It's always the same way whether it is in the morning or the evening, always the same way.

1. STEEP FOR FOUR MINUTES

2. POUR

2. WAIT ONE MINUTE

3. STIR

4. ONE SPOONFUL OF MILK

"Not too strong. No sugar. A little milk." Sherlock tells her. He checks his watch. Four minutes have passed. "I think it's steeped enough."

"Really?"

Sherlock grabs the pot and begins to pour the tea into the cup. "Yes, I'm quite sure."

He pretends to ignore Mrs. Hudson's lips curling at the corners into a smile.

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><p>I hoped you enjoyed. Until next time -J<p> 


	5. Science and Deduction

Disclaimer: The usual stuff

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><p>Sherlock checks his watch and then types a text into his phone.<p>

_WE'LL BE RIGHT THERE –SH_

_Both of you?_

_YES -SH_

Sherlock knocks on his friend's door. "Still coming?"

"Yeah. I'll be right there. Go get the cab," John's muffled voice says through the door.

Sherlock grunts as he walks down the stairs. He passes Mrs. Hudson on the way done.

CONCERN

"He wants to go out."

"You boys be careful."

"To be careful? That's not in our vocabulary."

She tuts as he heads out the front door. He hails a cab. He checks his watch. He has been waiting a minute when the door finally opens.

"God, John. Good thing the body is already dead." Sherlock exhales, exasperated.

EYE ROLL

RELAXED POSTURE

LOOKS HEALTHY

Sherlock is pleasantly surprised how the cab feels much warmer than in the past two weeks, going alone.

"You haven't told Greg have you?" John asks.

He blinks. "Greg, who?"

"Lestrade. It's amazing what your brain forgets."

"Oh, right." He looks out his window. "No I didn't bother Lestrade with so much dreary talk."

"Good." John nods back. "Good."

THANKFUL READS HIS POSTURE

I DON'T WANT PEOPLE TO TREAT ME DIFFERENTLY

Sherlock does not ask if today will be the day John will tell. It's John's decision, not his.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"John! I thought Sherlock might have murdered you. Nice to see you." Lestrade and John shake hands. Sherlock walks through the handshake, straight to the body. He looks back for a second.

John is grinning as Lestrade talks. Sherlock sees that the grin hides so much. Sherlock blinks.

JOHN NOT GETTING OUT OF BED

"Nah, he hasn't done that - yet. Just working a couple shifts."

"Seriously?"

NAUSEOUS AT TWO IN THE MORNING. FIVE AT NIGHT. AFTER A CUP OF TEA.

"All right. You got me. Was sick for a couple days but now I'm better."

COLD FOR THREE DAYS EVEN WITH TWO BLANKETS ON

"Fantastic. Glad you're feeling better." says Lestrade.

Sherlock shakes the images from his mind. "Bloody fantastic." He didn't have to note the change in John's posture to know that John heard his words dripped in sarcasm. "Can we look at the body now that you two have had tea, gone shopping and gossiped?"

"Sherlock, the body is already dead." John remarks as the two men walk over to the consulting detective. Lestrade nods, trying very hard not to grin.

It's seems the three are back to their old ways. This will change, Sherlock knows as he takes out his phone. He thumbs through his calendar as John looks down at the body. Lestrade says nothing because Sherlock is always on his phone, checking facts or figures.

SEPTEMBER THE FIRST

Sherlock nods to himself and pockets the phone. The date never changes and he doesn't check it every day, but today - he needs it. Today seems to normal, too happy. He's a man of deduction and science. Not of hope and butterflies.

"Sherlock, what do you think?"

FIVE MONTHS. ONE WEEK UNTIL SEPTEMBER FIRST.

"Of the dead body?" He leans over John's short frame, staring into the vacant eyes of the utility worker.

IS THAT ALL?

"Yes, of course Sherlock. What else would be discussing?" says Lestrade, now hovering over the two of them.

FOURTEEN HOURS AND TWENTY-THREE MINUTES UNTIL FIVE MONTHS AND SIX DAYS. TOMORROW IT WILL BE FIVE MONTHS AND FIVE DAYS.

John doesn't turn around, but Sherlock knows he wants to shoot him a glance of "Don't. Please don't. Keep your big mouth shut."

EVENTUALLY THEY ALL WILL KNOW.

"Well, how about how this dead body has clearly been dead for a couple days?"

"Oh." Lestrade pauses. He's not surprised by this fact. He's bothered it took him and his people to find the body just until today. "Well, that's why you're here."

As John side steps out of the way so that Sherlock can have a closer look at the body, their eyes lock for a second. John Watson's eyes read:

THANK YOU

Sherlock wonders if his own eyes are so easy to read. He hopes to God they aren't.

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><p>-J<p> 


	6. Laughter

Disclaimer: The usual.

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><p>Sherlock is lying on the couch with his hands under his chin. John is reading the paper in his chair.<p>

"Go on. I know you want to ask me."

Sherlock looks over at John. He is still holding the paper, but he wears an expression that Sherlock does not like.

QUESTIONING LOOK

ARCHED EYEBROW

"I don't know what you mean."

"You want to know if it will interfere with your work."

Sherlock is irritated by this sentence. "John, I never said that."

"You're thinking that. You were thinking that yesterday when we saw Lestrade."

Sherlock barks a laugh. "I really wish you would get better with your deductions."

John closes his paper and looks his friend in the eye. "I'm serious. It's going to get worse."

"John, you are already _delightful_ to live with. I'm sure it can't get worse."

"No, listen to me. Last week. That was - "

"A bad week."

"This week is a - "

"Good week."

"Sherlock, it's not a game of finishing my sentences."

Sherlock begs to differ. John looks amused for a second, but then his expression hardens.

"I don't know if I'm going to be able to switch it on and off like a light switch. Actually, I know I won't." John puts his head in his lap and mumbles. "Maybe Harry would be easier to deal with."

Sherlock hears every word. "What did you just say? You would choose an alcoholic over a sociopath." John picks his head up and stares at him.

ANGER

SADNESS

UNHAPPINESS

"You still going through with that - " Sherlock waves his hand in the air. He and John are like children, not wanting to say words like chemo or cancer or death. They are playing a game of make believe.

"Yes. I might up the dosage. Look at the labs. Being a doctor does have its benefits. But that's next week, " John waves it off. "God, I hope we get another case."

Sherlock's mouth twitches. "Would you like me to go out and kill someone for you so we have another case?"

John laughs and it's so genuine that it breaks Sherlock in a way he was not expecting. It's just like old times. He shakes it off.

"Can you pass me my phone?"

John chucks at his head. "Here you go, you lazy git."

HAPPY

Sherlock grunts and does the next best thing to get a case, he texts Lestrade.

_Get me a case for tomorrow. I'm incredibly bored. -SH_

Sherlock is very far from bored. He does this because John's laugh is just so damn infectious. He doesn't want next week to come.

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><p>I appreciate all the alerts and reviews.<p>

-J


	7. Interesting

Disclaimer: *sobs* At least I can write fanfiction.

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><p>Sherlock is fiddling with his mobile, but is perfectly aware of his surroundings from his chair.<p>

FOOTSTEPS IN THE KITCHEN

SIGH OF EXASPERATION

"Do you ever get the groceries?" groans John.

"No." Sherlock says, still not looking up from his phone.

"Well, then I guess I'll be back in a few. I'll go pick up some food because apparently our fridge is empty again, except for the body parts."

FOOTSTEPS IN THE LIVING ROOM

Sherlock looks up at John.

CARRYING ENVIRONMENTALLY FRIENDLY BAGS

SHOES ON

CONTENT

GOOD DAY

"You want my card again? Can't have you having rows with the chip and pin machine." Sherlock is back to playing with his mobile.

"No. I'm fine. You got it last time."

Sherlock grunts as John closes the door behind him.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"John?"

SILENCE

He checks his watch, sitting in his chair. Twenty minutes go by. John is still not back. Sherlock texts him.

_HAD A ROW DID YOU? –SH_

He gets a response right away.

_NO. PICKING UP A COUPLE MORE THINGS._

An hour goes by and John is still not back. Sherlock groans. He's getting bored, he tells himself. That's why he needs John back.

_COME BACK. I'M STARVING. –SH_

_QUEUE IS REALLY LONG._

Another 15 minutes go by and Sherlock begins to twitch. It's a good day, nothing is wrong. He is about to call John when he hears feet on the stairs. The door opens.

"God, I'm so hungry. What took you so long?" Sherlock says, still sitting in his chair.

THREE ENVIRONMENTALLY FRIENDLY BAGS

ONE PLASTIC BAG

OUT OF BREATH

Sherlock pretends to get up and stretch, but really he reaches for the plastic bag. John intervenes and hands him a reusable bag instead.

"Much heavier this one. I think you can manage it better."

Sherlock still eyes the bag, but John is already holding it protectively.

'What's in that one?" He points at it like a child.

"Boring stuff." John answers like a parent. "Nothing you would find interesting."

That's the worst thing to do to Sherlock Holmes, telling him something isn't interesting. He wants to find out for himself why it isn't interesting.

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><p>-J<p> 


	8. Twelve Minutes

A.N. Thanks for all the alerts and reviews. I am happy to see you all like this story or are at least interested to see where it goes. The Conclusion of what's in the bag?

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><p>He barely waits three seconds when John enters the bathroom. He needs to find out what is in that bag. He's desperate, anxious.<p>

SHOWER IS TURNED ON. APPROXIMATELY 12 MINUTES TO FIND IT.

Sherlock laughs to himself. It won't take that long. As he pushes open John's door to search, his mind begins to sketch what the bag looked when John brought it through the front door.

It's an average plastic bag. The bottom didn't sag much, so the weight wasn't heavy. It wasn't bulging so it fit inside the bag nicely.

His mind abruptly stops sketching, observing the room before him.

UNMADE BED

JUMPERS

JUMPERS

JUMPERS

SOCKS  
>JUMPERS<br>BOOKS

MOBILE

SOCKS

JUMPERS

The room is an absolute mess. His eyes hover on every single thing in the room. It usually is impeccably neat since John was in the army. Sherlock can tell that John is frustrated, but the room's disorder had just proved it.

Sherlock compartmentalizes these thoughts. He will come back to them later. He really needs to find that plastic bag.

"If I was John Watson, where would I stuff something I didn't want Sherlock to find?" He asks aloud to the room. His eyes fall onto one of the jumper piles.

His mouth twitches. He lifts up a jumper. Nothing. There are many more piles to go through.

At first he is meticulous, not wanting John to know he was in here. He glances at his watch.

EIGHT MINUTES TO GO.

Sherlock starts tossing jumpers left and right.

THE BLUE ONE WITH THE CHECKS?

Nope. He shoves it to the side.

THE RED AND BLACK ONE?

Nope. He tosses it over his shoulder. "Urgh." He sits on the bed, raking his fingers through his hair.

As he sits on the mattress, he thinks, John wouldn't hide it in the most obvious spot, would he?

Sticking his fingers under the mattress, he is apparently right. John would hide things in the most obvious spot.. Sherlock pulls out the plastic bag. John has a hiding place like a fifteen-year-old boy.

SIX MINUTES.

He sticks his hand eagerly in the bag and pulls out, one thin book. Sherlock frowns. It's a lesson book.

PIANO FOR ADULTS

He flips through book. After a couple seconds, he slides the book back in the bag and then under the mattress. He understands, but not fully.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Sherlock is back in his chair when John comes out of the shower, tousling his wet hair, wearing his maroon fuzzy bathrobe. John looks in his bedroom and just shakes his head.

"I know it's very hard for you to stay out of my room. I really wish you would accept boundaries people give you." The words sound like a scolding, but John's don't sound remotely angry.

"I could've taught you." Sherlock said.

John laughs as he sits in his chair, still running a towel through his damp hair. "I thought you would find it. I am glad you were entertained for ten minutes."

Sherlock does not mention that he was only entertained for six minutes. "Why?" He groans instead.

"Why what? Why would I want to entertain you - oh, you mean the piano?"

"Yes! Exactly my point! Why wouldn't you try the violin? Or pick up the clarinet again? We don't even own a piano!"

John ignores the comment about the clarinet. Sherlocks knows John never wanted to play that instrument. "Because you would murder me in five minutes. I'm picking up a keyboard tomorrow. It's portable so it won't get it your way. Anyway I always liked the sound of the piano and wanted to play. Given everything, it now seems like the perfect opportunity."

Sherlock waves him off, frustrated and John shakes his head.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

A day later, Sherlock is in his room, rummaging through his drawers for a new shirt to wear when John pushes open the door.

BEWILDERMENT

"Yes, John?"

John is flummoxed. "Just come out for a minute, will you?" Sherlock fake groans since he knows exactly what John is bewildered about.

"Where did that come from?" John jabs toward the new object in the room.

It is an upright piano wedged between their two windows. Their desk is now moved to the center of the room and the chairs are closer to the fireplace. The room definitely got more cramped, but Sherlock thought it was worth it.

"Oh. That." He says looking at the piano. "Well. That's a piano, John."

"I know that."

EXASPERATION

"I told you. I was going to get a keyboard."

Sherlock shakes his head. "Keyboards sound ugly. If you are going to play, use the real thing, John."

"You didn't have to do this for me."

"I didn't. I did this for the sanity of musicians everywhere." He looks around. "I'm going back to my room now that we've got this out of the way. I need to put a shirt on."

When he closes the door, he can already hear the tinkling of the piano keys.

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><p>Some fluff for the holiday cheer. I also included some shirtless Sherlock and many jumpers for John for the holiday too haha. -J<p> 


	9. Scales

Disclaimer: The usual.

A.N.: Time skip, it's already next week.

* * *

><p>His bow glides across the strings. Four strings. Four wonderful strings. His fingers move across the fingerboard, ready to begin his scales. He stops before he can even begin. John is standing by the door.<p>

"I'm going, all right?"

Sherlock glances over his fingerboard to John, standing at the door.

CHEMO

WANTS TO MAKE SURE I KNOW

PHONE IN HAND.

MENTAL NOTE TO HIMSELF THAT HE WILL TEXT ME WHEN HE'S FINISHED

Sherlock nods and the door closes behind him. He looks back to the violin still grasped in his hands.

His violin teacher taught him as a child, no matter how good you could get, you still need to practice your scales. Scales were the stepping stones, the building blocks to learn a musical instrument. He loathed them, but he never strayed away from them. He needed them more than ever.

"_Sherlock, I need to talk to you."_

C – D – E – F – G – A – B – C

"_Can it wait? I'm inspecting this sample." He said as he continued to look under the microscope._

G – A – B – C – D – E – F sharp – G

"_It can't."_

D – E – F sharp – G – A – B – C sharp – D

"_So just talk. I'm listening." He still continued to look under his microscope. He heard John sigh. _

A – B – C sharp – D – E – F sharp – G sharp – A

"_I went to the doctors. You know I hadn't been feeling well."_

E – F sharp – G sharp – A – B – C sharp – D sharp – E

"_Well, we can assume you're not pregnant. I thought you were a doctor."_

"_Sherlock."_

B – C sharp – D sharp – E – F sharp – G sharp – A sharp – B

"_God, Just look at me." John screamed. He stopped looking under the microscope._

F sharp – G sharp – A sharp – B – C sharp – D sharp – E sharp – F sharp

"_John, you really do not have scream to get my atte-" DISEASE. WORRY. DEATH._

C sharp – D sharp – E sharp – F sharp – G sharp – A sharp – B sharp – C sharp

_He'll get through this. Yes, he'll get through this. "Just a bump in the road, right John?"_

"_No."_

"_Oh. Are you sure? Second opinion maybe?"_

A flat – B flat – C – D flat – E flat – F – G – A flat

"_That was the second opinion. Six months. They said six months."_

E flat – F – G – A flat – B flat – C – D – E flat

"_Well…"_

B flat – C – D – E flat – F – G – A –B flat

"_Yes – Well…" _

F – G – A – B flat – C – D – E – F

_Sherlock looked back to his microscope and John sighed. _

"_I'm going for a walk."_

Sherlock finishes his major scales. He checks his phone. No message. It has only been five minutes. He sighs. He should move on to his minor scales now, he has the time.

* * *

><p>You finally get your backstory on how Sherlock found out. Music people, let me know if there are any errors in the scales. Unlike Sherlock, I haven't played mine in a while. Non-music people, I hope this chapter wasn't too bothersome or cumbersome with all the letters of the music alphabet going through it.<p>

I hope you enjoyed as always. Thanks for reviews and alerts also.

-J


	10. Sleep

Disclaimer: Lord, if I'm on fanfiction... it's obvious I don't own any of the characters.

* * *

><p>John is lying down on the couch. The chemo yesterday did a number on him. Sherlock glances at his friend.<p>

PALE

GHOSTLY

DOES NOT WANT TO MOVE

Sherlock sighs, tapping away at his laptop. "Do you really think it's wise?"

"Sherlock. Please don't talk to me. I have a horrible headache."

HAS NOT SLEPT... AT ALL

"John, I just want to know."

John places his hands over his ears, blocking out the noise that is Sherlock's voice. He eventually removes them and places them over his eyes.

"Yes," John groans and speaks again. "All right? Are you happy?" His voice is low and tired. "I told you I was going to do it twice this week and the week after this."

Sherlock does not tell John how he feels about this news. He just says, "We'll share a cab. I'm going to the morgue tomorrow. Molly has a new body for me. You know save on the fare."

John just nods. Sherlock looks over at him.

THE COUCH IS UNCOMFORTABLE

"Go to your bed."

John does not move.

"You can't sleep on that couch anymore. Go to bed."

John waves him off. Sherlock closes his laptop, frustrated and gets up. He walks over into John's room. It is still a mess. He sighs then begins to meticulous fold John's sweaters and stacks them away from the bed. He makes the bed and fluffs the pillows. The room in his mind is semi-neat looking, better than what it was. He then returns back to the living room to hover over John.

"Get up! "

John blearily opens his eyes.

BLUE

GLASSY

TIRED

"I'd rather not." John says as he closes his eyes, trying very hard to pretend that the consultant detective is still not hovering over him. Too bad, Sherlock has his own idea.

"Doctor Watson - " Sherlock begins to whine as he starts to drag the couch. "I r-really insist." He pulls on the couch a little more. It's a little heavier than he expected it to be.

"I'm going be sick, you stupid idiot!" John wobbly gets off the moving couch.

Sherlock perches himself on the end of the couch, waiting five minutes before John comes out of the bathroom. He didn't intend for John to get sick, but in the end... Sherlock got the result he wanted. John did get off the couch.

John returns, leaning against the wall to have some stability, but is still fairly close to the bathroom.

PALE

STILL NASEAOUS

"Why couldn't you leave me be? I didn't want to be sick! I don't want to be in my room all day. I want to be by peo - " John abruptly stops, his face turning a nasty shade of green and ducks back into the bathroom.

Sherlock looks around. _People?_ He thinks to himself._ He's the only one in the room. Oh… _his brain says.

He sighs. Observing social interactions takes so much effort, but carrying them out is a whole new form of understanding. Sherlock picks up his laptop and heads into John's room.

When he is sick, he likes to be left alone with a cup of tea right by his door. He doesn't like the attention, people coddling him. He understands that people are all different. As he sits on the bed, legs out stretched, laptop on his lap, he hears John come out of the bathroom, obviously confused to not find Sherlock in his previous position.

A few seconds pass, but John finally comes into his own room and gives a questioning look to his roommate. Sherlock is typing yet again on his laptop, comfortably sitting on one side of John's bed. Sherlock does not look up and just taps the pillow on the empty side.

"You know people would talk if they could see this." John mumbles as he lays down. Sherlock knows John doesn't want to admit, but there is a big difference between the couch and the bed.

Sherlock does not answer this question. He does not have to because John, who could not sleep all day, is fast asleep in a record thirty seconds.

Sherlock thinks people talk too much. He thinks John worries too much. Honestly, it was all part of an equation.

The couch was uncomfortable + the bed has a 300 thread count + John's needs to sleep +John wants company + Sherlock is the company= Slight location change and sleep

Sherlock chuckles to himself. The world complicates itself so much with emotions other than what is necessary in life including the need to sleep.

* * *

><p>Someone asked me if this would be JohnLock and I'm never entirely sure what it will be. This though, the whole couch thing, is just what family and friends do, they make you feel more comfortable even though you won't admit it.

Thanks for all the alerts and reviews as usual!

-J


	11. Horrible?

Sherlock sits with Molly in the morgue. Molly is examining a body while Sherlock is prodding another. He moves over to a laptop and starts typing furiously fast.

"So how he is doing?"

"What?"

He glances at her and rolls his eyes. He is so sick of this look from Molly or Mrs. Hudson.

PITY

"Sherlock, I'm serious."

Sherlock speaks, tonelessly, without looking up. "Horrible."

"What?" Molly edges closer to him.

"Horrible." He says in the same toneless voice.

He doesn't look at her. He continues to read the website in front of him.

"I thought he looked actually good when he came in today." She sighs as she sits on the stool next to him. He wishes she wouldn't.

"So why did you ask me?" He drawls, annoyed now as he continues to read the screen.

"Sherlock - don't. You can read people like a book, you're his friend. Are you being honest? He's feeling horrible?"

He finds Molly positively infuriating. He throws his hands up in the air with disgust. "He looks fine and dandy, Molly Hooper. Are you happy? Is that what you want me to tell you? He plans to run a marathon right after his system is pumped with toxic drugs - " He's about to prattle on, but looks at Molly for a split- second.

NOT LOOKING AT HIM

EYES GLUED TO THE COMPUTER SCREEN

"Get away from that." He starts to swat her away from his computer.

Molly begs to differ. She has an older brother and is used to this form of aggression. She just moves the laptop away from him, still looking at the screen. "What are you looking at?"

SUSPICION

"You can read."

It's painfully quiet for a few seconds, but Molly speaks.

"You're trying to save him."

TWISTS HER FINGERS IN THAT ANNOYING NERVOUS FASHON

EYES NOT MEETING HIS

"You said it was a death sentence. You, with all your science and realism. You told me two weeks ago to stop being optimistic, but here you are, looking up clinical trials."

Sherlock shrugs it off. He doesn't want the woman to be right.

"I am a genius. Why can't I be the one to solve cancer? I do have lots of free time when I'm not consulting. " He laughs that deep laugh that hides how exposed he feels, but stops abruptly when he hears his phone beep.

_TIME TO CALL A CAB_

A CHAIR SQUEAKS

"I'll come with you."

He looks at her. She's got this dreamy look in her eyes.

"Molly Hopper, don't breathe a word of this to John. Do not tempt me; I'm also a sociopath. "

She nods back, but he can see that this thinly veiled threat does nothing to her.

* * *

><p>Thanks for all lovely messages.<p>

-J


	12. Queue

Sherlock is queuing at the local chemist. He is here to pick up John's medication. He knew two days of Chemo was a bad idea.

He starts to examine each person in the line.

LARGE WOMAN

SHORT MAN

He hates queues. He prefers John to do the shopping because he can't stand the monotony of it.

CHILD WITH COLD

MAN WITH CAST ON

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock braces himself. He knows instantly whom the voice belongs to. Greg Lestrade.

"What are you doing on a chemist's queue? I thought you didn't get sick." He laughs.

"Well, obviously I'm picking up a couple things." Sherlock nods as the line moves forward. Greg is holding a basketful of items.

SHAVING CREAM

DEODORANT

BORING STUFF

"Let me not hold you up, Lestrade. You have things to pay for." He gestures toward the basket.

Lestrade doesn't. He continues to move with Sherlock as the line moves forward yet again.

"I don't have to do a drugs bust, do I?" Lestrade says jokingly.

Sherlock sighs. This isn't Sherlock's job to tell. He tries to ignore him, pulling out his phone to text John.

LESTRADE IS HERE. FANTASTIC. VERY INCOVENIENT –SH

"Sherlock, it's not, right?"

Sherlock snorts. "Even you know that the drugs I did, can not be bought at a store like this fine establishment." He feels his phone buzz, a response back from John.

VERY INCOVNENIENT, BUT UNAVOIDABLE I WOULD THINK. IT'S ALL RIGHT.

Sherlock catches Lestrade glaring at him out of the corner of his eye as they yet again move. "But you know as well as I that there are loads of other options. Did John prescribe something for you?" Lestrade asks warily.

_Very close_, Sherlock's mind thinks. "Don't be stupid, Lestrade." He's in front of the counter now. He's stiffly hands over the prescription receipt. The woman asks, "Can I see some identification?

Sherlock nods knowing that this would happen. He hands over another scrawled note from John and John's doctor.

The woman peers at it. Sherlock can instantly tell that this woman is going to blow his cover sooner than he would like it to be. He is about to berate her, but Lestrade steps in. _This won't be good, either way_ he thinks to himself, _the cover is going to be blown._ This isn't about some case, Sherlock wants to tell Lestrade, this is about someone's life.

Lestrade flips his badge. "Scotland Yard, M'am. Anything this man is picking up, please hand over to me. We're investigating him."

Lestrade is handed the prescriptions bottle into his outstretched hand. Lestrade's basket is long forgotten as people continue to stare.

_People are so amused by gossip and drama_. Sherlock shakes his head with disgust. He doesn't know why they are staring. Sherlock isn't throwing a fit like most criminals do. He is calmly walking out with another man who just happens to work for Scotland Yard.

"You know I can never come here again with you whipping your badge out like that." Sherlock says to the detective inspector. Lestrade says nothing.

Once they are out the door, Lestrade observes the two bottles in his hands. "Morphine tablets." He twiddles the bottle in his hand, examining the tablets. "God, Seriously heavy stuff, Sherlock. I thought you had enou-" He stops, finally letting the name on the label register in his mind.

"Can I have them back then?" Sherlock asks knowing that Lestrade has found the answer.

Lestrade wordlessly hands over the bottle. Sherlock pockets it. They stare at each other.

SHOCK

CONFUSED

STARTLED

Lestrade speaks grimly. "He didn't just have the flu, did he?"

"You're the Detective Inspector. With all your new evidence, you know it's not the flu." Sherlock states and looks pointedly at Lestrade. "Don't treat him differently. When he comes back, don't treat him differently."

"I wouldn't think about doing that."

Sherlock looks at him. He knows that the Greg Lestrade will definitely treat John differently, like skating on thin ice. Greg Lestrade is a good human being who shows his emotions at the worst of times. He's always considerate and compassionate which really must be a negative aspect when he is trying to arrest people. Sherlock has had enough of this encounter.

"Places to go, Lestrade." He gestures that he wants to head home.

"Right, well tell John… feel better. See you guys soon. I'll stop by one day for a drink." He puts his hands in his pockets, awkwardly.

Sherlock stares at him. "I'll tell him." That's all Sherlock can manage to come out of his mouth. "I'll tell him."

* * *

><p>-J<p> 


	13. Beer and other Hard Liquor

A.N.: Time Jump. I probably should mention that. 3 months left now.

* * *

><p>Sherlock pushes open the door and narrowly avoids a broken beer bottle on the floor.<p>

1…2…4…5...6

He decides he must stop counting. Sherlock unties his scarf and leaves it on the couch. There are many more bottles. He's slightly disturbed.

"John? Where are you?" He calls, walking a little faster around the flat.

He hears a deranged sort of scream coming from the bathroom. His quick walking suddenly turns into a mad dash toward the sound of the scream. Their apartment seems to go on forever. He throws the door open to see John staring at the mirror, oblivious that Sherlock has entered the room.

"God damn it. Jesus!" John says screaming at himself. He grasps his hair that is falling out on its own accord.

John then laughs drunkenly, finally noticing Sherlock, "Oh hullo, you see this?" He shows Sherlock the hair in his hands. "It has been on my pillow for the past two days. Just thought I was shedding. Really a daft doctor I am." Sherlock doesn't like drunk people in general, but he especially doesn't like drunk John. "Sherlock, I'm quite stupid." Sherlock knows John isn't stupid.

John fingers the bald spot in the back of his head. Sherlock eyes him. He had known for quite some time that John has been losing his hair, in odd little clumps. He's never mentioned it because Sherlock has tact for John Watson. He will not admit it to Anderson or Donovan or even Lestrade, but Molly knows and Mrs. Hudson knows. They know he cares deeply for his friend.

EYE UNFOCUSED

GLAZED

INTOXICATED

Sherlock stares at him. He does not feel pity for his friend. He just feels emptiness. He just feels dread. The calendar in his brain is going off.

3 MONTHS

"You know, you could do that military buzz kinda of look. You've done it before when you first met me." Sherlock says leaning against the wall, waving his hand around John's hair.

John is still staring in the mirror, disbelief washing over his face. He ignores Sherlock's comment.

"Why don't you just say it? You knew I was hoping for something, anything, but clearly I'm not getting my miracle." John chuckles darkly. "Just look me in the eyes and tell me that I'm going to die in, what is it - " John counts on his hand like a child. "Three months, right?" Sherlock is startled. His friend has never said those words out loud. John reverts back to staring at the mirror, gently thumbing his scalp.

Why does Sherlock say? The truth, he will not speak it because John can't die. He does not meet his eyes. There's still time to find a cure. "I won't talk to you like this. You are drunk."

John ignores him and begins to open drawers, looking for the razor.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Sherlock can barely watch. He squints through his eyes.

JOHN IS HOLDING THE RAZOR

HIS HANDS ARE SHAKING

THIS IS GOING TO END BADLY

"Come here." Sherlock grabs it. "You are probably going to shave off everything except your hair."

"No. I'm not an idiot." John says, turning the razor on.

"I never said you were. You are just still drunk."

John doesn't argue for which Sherlock is thankful. John just hands the razor over in defeat.

As Sherlock begins, John just stands there with his eyes closed like a child getting his hair cut for the first time. He buzzes it down so John just has peach fuzz like hair. The bald spots are barely noticeable. It doesn't look bad.

Sherlock holds the razor in his hands, ready to put it away in the drawer when he sees his own curly hair in the mirror.

He grimaces. He loves his hair, but he knows from all of Mrs. Hudson's drippy soap operas that friends usually shave their heads in the midst of camaraderie when it came down to it. Anyway, if it had to be for anyone, it would be for John Watson.

He turns it on again and is about to buzz off his own curly hair when John, sitting now on the bathroom floor, lets out a horrified sound.

"Noo, Sherlock! Your curly hair makes you so… s-so mysterious!" John giggles slightly when he says this.

Sherlock is well aware the moment that he walked in the door that John has had more than what one is legally allowed to have of alcohol. It still is working through his system. First and for most, John should not be consuming alcohol on his medication. Sherlock sighs, it's not like grocers ask you if you are on high does of pain medication before buying alcohol.

"Just a little bit." Sherlock promises his friend because now that he has the idea, he wants to go through with it. John nods in confirmation as Sherlock buzzes a little patch of hair and letting the curls drop to the floor.

He looks in the mirror.

BLUE SILVER EYES STARE BACK

SADNESS READS HIS EYES

BALD RANDOM SPOT

He shakes his head and looks away from the mirror. Instead he slinks down next to John on the bathroom floor, sprawls out his long legs and just pats his friend on the shoulder, awkwardly.

They both look slightly demented and deranged. He doesn't care because he knows what it means. He doesn't care about the rest of society. He only cares about how John is feeling. In the end, they both laugh…. John's intoxicated giggle and Sherlock's deep vulnerable chuckle that no one can hear out of the walls of 221 B's bathroom.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Sherlock is feeling his random patch of baldness when John blearily walks into the kitchen.

HAND RUNNING THROUGH HAIR, CLEARLY STILL TRANSFIXED BY WHAT HE'S DONE

OTHER HAND BLOCKING OUT THE STREAM OF SUN

BLINDS AND DRAPES ARE OPEN

Sherlock drags shut the drape. John doesn't say anything about the blind or his own lack of hair, but his eyes immediately find the random spot on Sherlock's hair.

DISTRAUGHT

"Sherlock, your hair…" He doesn't remember, Sherlock realizes and quite right he thinks since with all that alcohol John had.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "For god's sake John, it grows back. Anyway you said I looked mysterious."

John doesn't laugh. He looks dumbstruck, but then groans and sits at the table, holding his head in his hands.

THE NUMBER OF DRINKS IS COMING BACK

Sherlock speaks.

"I've done away with all the beer and other hard liquor you hide around the house. I'd prefer if you didn't try that again."

John mumbles into his hands. Sherlock can't quite hear him.

"John, I wish you wouldn't mumble."

He lifts his heads up and stares at Sherlock.

BLUE EYES

SLIGHTLY BLOODSHOT

LIPS FORMING WORDS

"I don't know how anyone can call you uncaring."

Sherlock shrugs, avoiding the blue eyes of John Watson. Apparently, John does not remember the words he spoke last night.

"Cup of tea for you and me, all right?"

John nods, not surprised by Sherlock's avoidance.

As Sherlock, fills the kettle up with water, he thinks the answer is quite simple, why people think this about him, why he is uncaring, angry and all.

It's because… they aren't John Watson.

* * *

><p>-J<p> 


	14. The Scotland Yard

Thanks for reviews and alerts. Here's the next chapter.

* * *

><p>The crime scene is busy as a crime scene usually is. Sherlock strolls in, with his hand in his pockets, walking with Lestrade. They are in deep discussion, but Sherlock has his eyes on everyone.<p>

ANDERSON STARING

SALLY STARING

REST OF THE SCOTLAND YARD ARE STARING

"What? Is there something on my face or are you all too stupid to realize that I'm back because you can't do your job properly?" Sherlock snaps. He knows why they are staring.

SALLY'S EYE LINGER ON HIS PARTLY SHAVED SPOT OF SCALP

ANDERSON AWKWARDLY COUGHS TO LOOK AWAY

Sherlock focuses back on Lestrade. "John is coming later today. He had to stop off somewhere," He waves his hand in annoyance. "but he insisted on coming. Remember what I said."

"I haven't told anyone." Lestrade whispers.

"Yes well, that might not matter." Sherlock mutters to himself, but Lestrade hears him.

"What?"

Sherlock barely opens his mouths to allow the words to come out. "His hair is gone. Buzzed, but gone." Sherlock then nods to the body lying on the staircase. "Shall we then?"

Lestrade nods curtly, but he is not quick enough to wipe the shock off his face. Sherlock sighs. It's going to be a long day.

x-x-x-x-x-x

20 minutes later, John walks in at the second crime scene, carrying a cup of tea. He smiles. Sherlock reads him right away.

WENT TO THE DOCTOR

NO CHANGE IN CANCER

CHEMO IS NOT WORKING

CUP OF TEA IS NECESSARY

"John, I wish you would've asked what I wanted." Sherlock moans to distract John from the wandering eyes of the Scotland Yard.

"Sorry. If it makes you feel better, the tea isn't that good."

"It does."

Sherlock begins to point and jab at the body on the grand staircase, remarking in the similarities between the two crime scenes. John nods, still wearing a small smile on his face.

"John, you're smiling at a crime scene."

John immediately drops his smile and snorts. "Right, sorry. That's your job."

They continue to talk. John is absorbed in the body, but Sherlock can't stop twitching. He feels all the eyes on John and him.

He turns toward Anderson, the usual target of his frustration. "Go and find something to do." Lestrade looks up from the crime scene and sighs. He walks over to Anderson and begins to mutter very quickly to him.

Sherlock can read Lestrade's lips.

JOHN. CANCER. DROP IT. LEAVE IT ALONE. STOP DRAWING ATTENTION. I WILL DROP YOU FROM THIS CASE.

Lestrade walks back over to Sherlock and shrugs. "All right? No different treatment as promised."

Sherlock isn't so sure of this. Anderson has now turned to Sally to confer with her and her eyes read sadness. Sherlock hates the two of them.

He moves closer to John.

"They all know now?" John asks, still looking at the body.

Sherlock nods. "Unfortunately."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

They are able to go to two more cases through out the month, being perfectly normal. John is delighted as one can be with dead bodies. He only disappears briefly the week after for his chemo treatment. No one at the Scotland Yard says anything to Sherlock when John disappears. Anderson and Sally are still snarky, even a little too snarky and fresh. Sherlock won't go as far as to thank them, but he appreciates the normalcy.

When Sherlock picks John up that day, John admits that today's treatment would be his last.

"It's not working. You were right. It's only causing pain. Can't miss the dead bodies." He smiles.

"I'm glad you saw some sense in that decision." Sherlock says and John just shakes his head.

" I can always count on you for a real reaction."

"Yes, you can John."

Sherlock observes one more thing that he chooses not to tell John. _Now that John has stopped the chemo; John's hope is gone._

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

With his medication, John has learned to subdue the agonizing pain. It's standard procedure at the third case with all of Sherlock's rambling and John's need to restrain Anderson from killing the detective.

It is the fourth case that Sherlock knows that life will never truly be the same.

It starts off as normal.

John is pleased. He seems to have used his doctor skills to notice the swollen abdomen on the construction worker. He's about to talk to Lestrade when Sherlock notices the day is going downhill, fast.

It's a look of pain. John winces and proceeds to shake it off like a bug in his face. Sherlock doesn't move closer towards him, but eyes him suspiciously.

I'm all right, John's eyes say.

Sherlock nods. Lestrade does not see this exchange, but Sherlock always notices.

The day continues around with chasing, but Sherlock loses John. Sherlock actually stops chasing the criminal to find his friend.

John is sitting on some steps a block away. His skin looks faintly tinged, a sickly pale yellow.

EXHAUSTED

DRAINED

FLUSHED

CAN'T CATCH A BREATH

"Sorry Sherlock. "

"The criminal is an idiot. I already know where he is going. I'll text Lestrade the details. They can actually do some real leg work for once." He doesn't bother to sit. John needs to go home. It's the start of more bad days then good. Sherlock looks around and hails the first cab that has a vacancy light.

He helps John up and they both hobble into the cab. John closes his eyes and Sherlock texts Lestrade the address of where the criminal has run off to.

After a quick look at John, he texts Lestrade again.

COUNT ME OUT FOR THE REST OF THE WEEK. TEXT IF NECESSARY.

His phone buzzes right away.

THANKS. DAMN.

Lestrade is always one with words, Sherlock thinks to himself. Thanks is for the address and damn is for the cancer. The last word pretty much summed up his day. Damn.

* * *

><p>-J<p> 


	15. Piñatas

Time jump.

* * *

><p>John is sitting at the piano. He is playing "Ode to Joy" very slowly on the piano.<p>

Sherlock thinks this song is ironic, since what is there to be joyful about? His research is not going well. He is no closer to a cure. John is running out of time.

Sherlock can see that John is happy on the outside of not being hooked up to machines, but inside the hope is gone. Now they are just living.

HAIR IS NO LONGER BUZZED.

LAST ROUND OF CHEMO KILLED THE HAIR

COMPLETELY BALD

THINNER

NOT EATING AS MUCH

John is cursing at the piano now. Sherlock glances at him from his chair, amused. "See, picking up an instrument isn't as easy as you would like it to be."

"Stuff it Holmes." John grumbles, stretching his hands.

LESS THEN TWO MONTHS, Sherlock's mind warns.

"Just do the scales. It's a good restart on your hands." Sherlock says as he measures a solution into a beaker.

John murmurs thanks. He then gets through two scales slowly, but stops.

"Lestrade texted me today. We are going out for a pint, care to join?" He says happily.

"No. I don't like beer." Sherlock is always afraid of John going out, but John is a grown man. He can take care of himself.

"You don't have to get beer. I'm not going to get a beer either. Probably one of those non-alcoholic ones. Shouldn't mix it with my medication after what happened last time."

"Go." Sherlock gestures to the door. "I have had enough of Lestrade this week."

John sighs and turns back to the piano and Sherlock continues his research.

_I'm not celebrating your birthday at a bar,_ Sherlock thinks to himself.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It's midnight when Sherlock decides to go pick up his roommate. He had argued with himself the whole day that John was a grown man and could handle himself.

In the end, he decides must make sure his friend is still breathing for his sake. He really is turning into a paranoid mess.

The city is chilly for a July night. He is not wearing is coat, but his scarf is wrapped around his neck just because he can.

He stops in front of McMaricks, a couple blocks from the apartment. It is usually where Lestrade goes to blow off steam. He pushes open the door and right away finds the two people he is looking for. He is surprised to find others there.

MOLLY IS HICCUPING.

MIKE STAMFORD IS LAUGHING

LESTRADE IS TELLING SOME OBNOXIOUS STORY

JOHN IS LISTENING INTENTLY, GRASPING HIS DRINK. NON-ALCOHOLIC DRINK BY THE LOOKS OF THE LABEL

Sherlock tries to observe for a while longer, but Molly starts to wave enthusiastically at him. John catches his eye. Sherlock sighs and walks over.

"Hello everyone."

John smiles. "So you've decided to come out. You want a drink?"

Sherlock shakes his head. "I just came to see how you were getting on - "

MOLLY TENSES

MIKE STAMFORD AWKWARDLY TAKES A SIP FROM HIS GLASS

LESTRADE LOOKS VERY POINTEDLY. HIS EYES READ 'YOU ARE TREATING HIM DIFFERENTLY'

JOHN EYES HIM SUSPICIOUSLY

"Getting on with your birthday." Sherlock finishes his sentence. He looks back to Lestrade. _I'm not treating him differently. I just hate celebrating birthdays._

Molly laughs. "John! You didn't say it was your birthday!" She giggles again.

John frowns at her. "Are you sure I didn't tell you?" Sherlock can see right through his lie.

JOHN DIDN'T TELL ANYONE. HE JUST CAME OUT TO GET A PINT WITH HIS FRIENDS.

Lestrade interrupts him. "One more round? It's a cause to celebrate!"

"Definitely!" Mike says. Sherlock does not mention that is no longer John's birthday as it is now past midnight.

"Sherlock?" Sherlock can't say no, not with the change of events. He can't bring his friend away from a birthday toast. He would never hear the end of it. John looks pleased though.

Sherlock gives a terse nod. "Just a gin and tonic, all right?"

"Excellent." Lestrade claps him in on the back. "To John Watson!"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

John and Sherlock are walking home from McMaricks. They are only about five blocks away.

HAS HANDS IN HIS POCKET

FEELS ALL RIGHT

NO LIMPING

NO SHIVERING

TAKEN A PILL IN THE LAST TWO HOURS

John laughs to himself. "Of course you knew all along."

"I hate bars." Sherlock says. "I hate birthdays. Overtly sentimental. Apparently so do you."

"What?" John stops abruptly in the street.

"You didn't tell anyone it was your birthday." Sherlock says matter of factly as he continues to walk. John still doesn't move.

"Birthdays are awkward as you get older." Sherlock stiffens, but John continues. "Anyway, they were more fun as a kid."

"Really?" He now stops and looks back at his friend. He pointedly ignores John's comment about last birthdays. "Mummy always said birthdays were just another day."

"Never had a birthday party with party games? No piñatas?" John jokingly asks.

Sherlock looks at him blankly. "No. Is that what your parents did?"

"Yes, with all the fixings! Lord, we're going to have to do a full out party for you!"

Sherlock smiles at John's enthusiasm. John and he both know his birthday is in January. A long way away.

BLOCK AWAY FROM BAKER STREET

JOHN LOOKS STARVED.

HAS NOT EATEN AT THE BAR

NOT IN TOO MUCH PAIN

"I'm starving." Sherlock groans.

"It's 1 AM. We're a block away from home."

"Angelo's is always open." He says casually, glancing at his roommate to see his roommate's expression and body stance.

WANTS TO BE OUT

FEELS ALL RIGHT

John shakes his head with amusement. "Happy Birthday to me."

"John, I hate to say this, but it's no longer your birthday. It's 1 AM. "

"Shut up Sherlock!" He laughs as he takes his hand out of his coat to flag down a cab. Sherlock texts Angelo just to let him know that he will be having two customers for a very early breakfast.

* * *

><p>Thanks for all the alerts and reviews. I did a little research and the common day I found for John's birthday was July 6.<p> 


	16. Wine Glasses and Mugs

Time jump.

Spoilers: Scandal in Belgravia

* * *

><p>His phone goes off in the middle of the night. It doesn't matter. He is not sleeping. He hardly every sleeps. Sherlock is sprawled on his stomach, doing research on his laptop when he hears the phone make the familiar female moaning sound.<p>

He stretches for the phone and glances at the text.

_I'm outside. Do let me in. _

Sherlock swings his body off the bed and goes straight into the living room. He glances at his watch with one eye while the other eye lingers on the sidewalk below.

WOMAN

BLACK DARK HAIR, NOT PULLED BACK

JEANS

SWEATER

CASUAL

His other eye tells his brain that is one o'clock in the morning.

He grumbles to himself as he goes down the steps. He slides the lock and opens the door a crack, just to see her blue eyes staring back.

"You shouldn't be here. You're dead."

Irene blinks. "Yes, we are both painfully aware of that. Let me in. I don't want your brother coming to find us both here."

"I live here."

She points a finger at him. "You know what I mean."

He rolls his eyes, but allows her to enter.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asks again. He is sitting in his chair, eyeing her. She is still such a hard person to read.

"It's quite obvious." She remarks as she curls on the couch. She hugs her knees to her chest. "John's blog has not been updated in two months." She points to his hair. "You're missing a patch of hair."

Sherlock snorts. "You didn't know I was missing hair until now. What is _not_ obvious is why you are here in my apartment."

"Sherlock, this is what people _do_. They check to make sure those close to the sick are not dying as well."

"That's rubbish." He doesn't question how Irene actually knows. She still has connections. He doesn't really care that much that she stuck her nose into someone else's business. He's more annoyed that she is trying to make him care.

"Don't lie to me Mr. Holmes. You and I are cut from the same cloth of hiding things. It's too bad I'm a better at deducing."

Sherlock ignores that comment. Instead he motions to his whole body. "Do I look diseased to you Ms. Adler? Do I look like I'm dying?"

"Well, you don't look like yourself." She remarks. "It must get awfully sad in that brain of yours."

EYES LOCK ONTO HIS FOR A BRIEF SECOND

LIPS PART ABOUT TO SPEAK

"Do you happen to have any wine?"

He grumbles, but gets up. He can see her smile as he rummages through the back of the fridge where he hid the only bottle of alcohol in the house. John doesn't know that Sherlock had it. It's not like John checks the back of the fridge, behind the body parts anyway. He hands her an empty mug he grabbed from the counter. "Sorry, all out of wine glasses."

She takes the mug from his hands. He pours her a little and proceeds to leave the bottle by her feet. He then retreats back to his chair to stare at her.

"So - " She says.

"One month. Approximately." He says curtly.

"Oh."

MUG CLASPED IN HER FINGERS

EYES LOCK AGAIN

Silence.

EYES LOOK DOWN INTO HER CUP

"Poor, poor boys of 221 B." She says softly, cupping the mug in her hands.

"Yes." Sherlock agrees with her. He folds his fingers into one another. "Yes, indeed."

* * *

><p>-J<p> 


	17. Cluedo

They are both sitting in their chairs. Sherlock is sitting in his leather one, with his legs crossed, his fingers steepled under his chin, staring at John.

John is sitting in his chair.

HOT TEA ON TABLE BESIDE HIM

EYES NODDING OFF

HEAD BOBBBING

TODAY IS SIX MONTHS

SEPTEMBER FIRST

"I don't understand." Sherlock says. John startles out his almost slumber.

"Uh-Understand, what?" He props his heavy head up with the support of his hand.

4 MORPHINE TABLETS ALREADY TODAY

4 PM

"My question." Sherlock shakes his head with annoyance. "Do you remember what you said to my question?"

John looks dumbstruck. "Sherlock, you've asked so many questions. Just the other day, I think you asked me," He scrunches his face for a moment.

A MOMENT OF PAIN

He finishes. "Twenty questions in the span of ten minutes."

"All right, John. I'll narrow it down. It was one of the first questions I ever asked you."

John snorts as he lifts up his tea. "Like, Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"No. Further along."

"I don't know. How about, do people usually assume you're the murderer?"

"No. No." Sherlock shakes the question off. He leans forward in his chair, still hands pointed under his chin and looks his friend in the eye. " But what if you were dying, if you'd been murdered in your very last few seconds, what would you say?

LOOKS AWAY

TAKES A SIP FROM HIS TEA

"Oh. Yes. That question. However, I'm not being murdered..." His answer drops off.

It's quiet in the room for a second. A brief second, but it is a second of silence that passes between them.

Sherlock speaks again, still not moving his eyes away from John.

"Yes. I think you should revisit your answer again. You said -

"- I know what I said."

Sherlock ignores him. "You said please God, let me live."

"Thanks for reminding me. Why are you - "

"So then why did it change?" Sherlock interrupts him.

Sherlock is curious. This is the one thing he has pondering for the past two months. When John stopped the chemo, he was like a different man. He made peace like a normal person would, but John Watson wasn't normal. For goodness sake, he's roomed with Sherlock for so long. He's a fighter.

"Because I'm tired."

"Just sleep more."

John laughs. "You know, I've been doing plenty of that." He sighs. "I'm in pain."

"Medication." Sherlock supplements.

"Medication is building a fake illusion. I will be in a morphine high if I keep knocking them back. I know you have been counting." He looks pointedly at his friend. "It's unhealthy for me to continue like that."

"Well you are already un- "

John interrupts this time. "It will not do away with my cancer. It will not make me better. I've come to terms with that. There is no cure."

Sherlock stiffens. "There could be."

"Really?" John eyes widen for a split-second. There is that spark that is there when Sherlock has a particular intriguing case and John is all game for it.

"Yes."

John looks at him. "You?"

"You, what?"

"You're working on a cure?"

SURPRISED

"Why do you sound so surprised?" Sherlock rolls his eyes and shrugs. "I might be. Would you like me to continue or would you like to die?"

John just stares at Sherlock. He then sighs. "I can't let all your hard work go to waste. You'll be disappointed you won't have a test subject."

Sherlock nods. "Good. I'll continue." He glances at the clock on his phone. Its only 4:20. He needs to get through this day.

"Care to play a game of cluedo?"

John laughs. "God, I hate that game." He waves Sherlock on anyway to get the board.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

As Sherlock starts to set up the game, John is dozing off again.

THE MORPHINE BOTTLE IS UNSCREWED

PILL NUMBER FIVE.

SLIPPED ONE WHEN SHERLOCK WENT TO GET THE GAME

PAIN IS TOO UNBEARABLE

"John?"

"Hmm?" John wakes up again out of his almost slumber.

"Jut making sure - "

"Yep. Still here." John shakes his head. "I know what you are doing."

"What ever do you mean?" Sherlock asks. He can't read John this time. He doesn't know what John is thinking.

"You can't deny me this, Sherlock. I've figured you out, first time ever actually. You've calculated in your mind the day I'm supposed to - "

_Oh_, Sherlock thinks. _John has figured it out._ He interrupts him.

"What piece do you want to be?"

"Don't interrupt me. It's today, isn't it?"

Sherlock twiddles the pieces in his hand. "Yes."

"Right." John nods and then points to the piece that Sherlock is holding. "I'll be that piece."

"Great."

They begin to play.

* * *

><p>-J<p> 


	18. Time

Sherlock can't sleep at night. He tosses and turns. He stares at the ceiling.

ITS BEEN SIX MONTHS AND TWO DAYS

He turns one night.

ITS BEEN SIX MONTHS AND THREE DAYS

He tosses the next.

ITS BEEN SIX MONTHS AND SEVEN DAYS

He doesn't want John to die, but that is what's killing him. He is used to calculations. He is used to method. He is not used to this unpredictability.

He's happy one minute and anxious the next. He has John, but for how long? He looks over to his side. John is next to him.

SLEEPING

BREATHING

He is not used to this anxiety. He doesn't want to fall asleep with a best friend and wake up without one. He can't sleep alone. He needs to reassure himself every five minutes that John is still breathing, still living. This all started seven days ago.

Irene was right, the disease is killing both of them.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_Borrowed time they call it. It's one of the cruelest things in life. You never know how much you have._

x-x-x-x-x

SIX MONTHS AND 10 DAYS

He hovers over John. John is painfully aware of this.

"It's a good day." John smiles, opening his eyes.

Sherlock shakes his head. It's a bad day. It's always a bad day now.

John is as skinny as Sherlock is. The skinniness looks unsightly on him. His jumpers swallow him up. He's like a little boy lost in the big world.

Sherlock gave up his research three days ago, throwing it up in the air.

The past seven days he had been working non-stop.

Researching. Experimenting. It felt like he was on a case, but he forgot the one thing he always does when getting caught up in something, John.

He forgot to observe John.

Looking at John now, Sherlock realizes that John has been slipping away, not on purpose, obviously, but John's body is not listening to John's heart. Sherlock doesn't know how much longer John can hold on.

JOHN IS SICKLY THIN

JOHN'S SKIN COLOR HAS DRASTICALLY CHANGED

JOHN WAS VIOLENTLY ILL LAST NIGHT AND TWO DAYS BEFORE THAT

"You want to eat, anything?" Sherlock questions, but John shakes his head. They both don't eat anymore. John can't and Sherlock refuses to.

"I'm just going to sleep, all right. Walk me through a case when I wake up. I know Lestrade has been texting you this morning about the one that's in the paper."

JOHN REFUSES TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL

HE WANTS TO BE IN 221 B, HIS HOME

SHERLOCK DOES NOT FORCE HIM TO GO

THEY ARE BOTH STUBBORN, DESPERATE MEN

John sees the worry in his eyes. "I'll wake up." He says confidently, too confidently.

Sherlock shifts. Sherlock knows that John doesn't know for sure and that's what worries both of them.

He knows his cure will not save the one person that matters. It will come too late. This, Sherlock realizes, is why he stopped two days ago.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Watching John sleep is painful. Every time he takes a deep breath, Sherlock leans forward, almost ready to shake him awake.

Eventually Sherlock distracts himself with the piano. There is no way to ever be slightly flat or sharp. The keys all have an identity. It's reassuring. He can't pick up the violin right now. There is too much unpredictability in that instrument. One stray placement of a finger and the note would be wrong.

Sherlock hears a noise as he continues to play. He stops abruptly and looks to John whose eyes are open like slits, trying very hard to focus.

"You played all along?" He doesn't sound angry. Sherlock doesn't think John can sound angry anymore. John just sounds relieved that Sherlock is still an enigma to him.

Sherlock shrugs. "You never asked."

John closes his eyes and Sherlock begins to play again. "Would you play Bach's Prelude No.1?" Sherlock's fingers cease moving listening to John's whispers.

"I know you can." He continues, knowing that Sherlock is listening. "It was always a favorite of mine. I just never advanced far enough to play it."

Sherlock's fingers don't even hesitate. They automatically remember.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

IT'S BEEN SIX MONTHS AND FOURTEEN DAYS

"Sherlock, I think I should go to the hospital."

Sherlock glances at his friend.

SLUMPED IN HIS CHAIR

BLANKET DRAPPED OVER HIM

NOT PAYING ATTENTION TO THE TELEVISION

"Why? You seem adequate today."

JOHN IGNORES THE COMMENT

"You can't work. You can't do research. You're too absorbed with all of this." He gestures at his whole body. "Let me do this, so you can work. I know you've stopped your research. I thought you were getting me a cure."

Sherlock ignores this comment and focuses on the first part of the conversation. "Doctors are incompetent."

"I'm a doctor."

Sherlock waves it off. "No."

"You don't trust them?"

Sherlock shrugs his shoulders, flipping the channels. He doesn't trust them. He doesn't trust anyone with his best friend.

"You're doing fine. I'm doing fine. All right?"

"Yes, all right."

JOHN LIES

JOHN KNOWS THAT SHERLOCK WOULD NEVER SETTLE FOR A HOSPITAL, FOR SOMEONE ELSE CHECKING UP ON HIM

Sherlock turns the television volume up. John pretends to pay attention.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_Death catches us off guard. It doesn't mean to. It's not being mean or cruel. It is just doing its job and humans hate it for that._

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"John, I need to show you this." Sherlock turns to John. They are in Sherlock's bed.

The past week, they both had realized that John's room was too far upstairs. It was not worth the strain and energy to walk up there.

_Sherlock helps John into the bed. John smiles, patting his friend on the shoulder. "Like you said, the bed is more comfortable. Continue to do your research in the kitchen. I'm just taking a nap." He taps his pillows._

_Sherlock didn't know he could hate the word "nap" so much._

_"I don't need the kitchen. I have my laptop." He shows John. He won't let John sleep alone._

_JOHN SHRUGS_

_DOES NOT PROTEST_

_JOHN KNOWS SHERLOCK WILL NOT LEAVE_

_Sherlock has not allowed himself to be alone for twenty days. He goes wherever John goes. He follows John like a puppy. Alone no longer protects him. When alone, his fear is always there. At least with John, there's someone to protect him from his feelings._

Sherlock is leaning against a pillow, laptop propped on his lap. He is playing with chemical diagrams.

IT'S BEEN SIX MONTHS AND TWENTY DAYS

Three days ago, he had gone back to looking at his research. He didn't know what provoked the change.

_It might have been four days ago when John had a great day, a fantastic day. John had even ordered a piñata to celebrate a soon seven months._

_"It'll be a party you won't forget. " Call it early, but John's will to live had come back. It was enough to make Sherlock's mind to try again._

Sherlock pulls at John's shirt to wake him up, anxious to tell John that he found something really good, something promising. Seven months could turn into eight. Eight could turn into….

John does not move. Sherlock groans, eyes still focused on his new chemical compound when he gives John another rough shake. For the past couple days, John had allowed Sherlock to violently wake him. It makes them both feel better.

NO MOVEMENT

Sherlock shoves his laptop away and focuses on John.

CHEST NOT RISING

Sherlock's foot kicks the laptop on the floor. He doesn't care. He doesn't hear the sound. His hands are too busy fumbling around John's skinny wrists looking for a pulse.

NONE

He tries at his neck.

NONE

"J-John?" Sherlock manages to choke out. He shakes his friend. "You wake up, you hear me! You promised you'd always wake up. I just checked on you. What am I supposed to do with the bloody piano and that stupid piñata you just ordered?" He wants to hit John, something, but instead he just slumps on the bed.

_It's over, _his brain says. _You kept him home. You were doing your research. You couldn't have both so now you don't have to choose. Find a cure._

"No." Sherlock says firmly to his brain. "I didn't want this."

He holds his friend's semi-warm hand. He was alive, not long ago. Sherlock is angry with himself. He had gotten too absorbed in his research, too obsessed where his brain tunes everything out, even the breathing of his friend.

MAYBE TEN MINUTES AGO

YOU COULD HAVE STOPPED THIS FROM HAPPENING

"John…"

Sherlock sits on his knees on top of the bed, staring at his friend.

He stares for a good ten seconds, but then tries chest compressions.

NOTHING

He taps his friend's hand to try to wake him up again.

NOTHING.

It's pointless, but Sherlock does not care.

"J-John, I c-couldn't do both. Watch you and work. You knew that I couldn't and didn't argue again to make me see. You foolish man." He inhales oxygen to his lungs, remembering to breathe. "I have never been scared. Never in my entire life. I've lived for danger. I've always jumped without looking. That was - until six months and twenty days ago."

He takes a deep breathand tells his best friend what everyone – Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade - could see what he was feeling even though he never admitted to it.

"Since then, I've been scared every single bloody day. I knew the day was coming when you couldn't protect me anymore with that s-stupid gun of yours. Who's going to protect me now from all of this?"

He throws his hands up, looking around the empty room. He then blinks, startled by his own outburst.

After about five seconds of just sitting there, blinking, Sherlock falls to his side, still on the bed. His body, his mind… his heart has never hurt this much.

He crumples into a ball with legs entangled and curls next to his friend. His one hand closet to John, grasps his friend's hand, trying to squeeze life back into it.

He abruptly flips over onto his back, legs stretching out, eyes staring at the blank ceiling, hand still squeezing as he speaks in a whisper like John had been doing the past two weeks, "A-after all these years of you following me, jumping over buildings, dashing through traffic, can't I - just follow you? Just this once? P-please John…. just this once."

Sherlock closes his eyes, wishing it were that easy, but it's not. His friend's hand is now very cold. He has sucked the last remaining warmth from John Watson and yet he, Sherlock Holmes, feels so cold and alone. He releases John's hand and tries to close his own eyes.

He can't. He must force them close with his hands. Sherlock wants to follow, but he knows better. He had already been following John for the past six months and twenty days. He had been following his friend's movements, his patterns, even the way he took his pills, but it stopped here.

Death wasn't looking for any more followers. It didn't want the only consultant detective in the world. It only came for his one of a kind blogger.

* * *

><p>-J<p> 


	19. This Life

In another life, John is not dead. Sherlock found a cure. They are still solving crimes. John's hair grows back. They still bicker. John buys milk. John meets someone. Sherlock insults her. She insults him right back. He eventually tells John he can put up with her…almost. John gets married. Sherlock is an annoying best man, but John's new wife knows she must compromise with her husband's best friend. John has kids. Sherlock is a godfather to the horror of the Scotland Yard. Years go by, they are still best friends.

However, this is not that life. That is another life.

In this life, Sherlock lies on one side of his bed. He doesn't jump around with nervous energy. _John is dead_. He just lies on the bed. The other side is empty. _No cure_. _You let him die._ Sherlock has never sat this still.

THE APARTMENT IS COLD

EMPTY

SOMEONE IS KNOCKING ON THE DOOR

IGNORE IT

His left hand is outstretched; the right hand is clenching and unclenching. Inside the palm of his right hand are morphine pills, leftover from John. Sherlock had found them in his room when they took his body away. Sherlock pocketed them. He never gave up on the idea of following his friend.

_It would be nice_, he thinks. _Life would go on. _His body and mind hurt and he doesn't know what it means. He closes his eyes.

On the edge of his bed, he feels the weight of the bed sag. John is sitting on the edge, shaking his head, tapping his foot impatiently.

_"What a waste – the world would be lost without the mind of Sherlock Holmes - "_

Sherlock opens his eyes. His brain hurts. His body hurts. The bed is empty except for him. "But I'm lost without my blogger." He says, but his hand close over the pills.

Not today. John would be ashamed of him.

x-x-x-x-x-x

He gets up and stumbles.

HAVE NOT EATEN IN FOUR DAYS

HAND IS CRAMPED

He unclenches his hand to see the pills still nestled in them. He pockets them in his dressing gown. He shrugs on a bathrobe and scratches his head. He realizes he must have fallen asleep.

KNOCK AT THE DOOR

Sherlock does not go to answer.

The door opens anyway. "Mrs. Hudson, I told you -" He stops and scowls at the visitor. "Oh. It's you."

Mycroft ignores him, leaning on his umbrella, observing his baby brother.

"Have you eaten?"

"You've eaten quite enough for me."

Mycroft walks past him into the apartment. Sherlock begins to protest, but realizes his brother's attention trains on something else.

EYES LOCK ONTO PIANO

"Remember when mummy was so cross you wouldn't continue the piano?" Mycroft muses.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "It got boring." It's not true. He just didn't want his mother to pick the instrument he wanted to play. He mastered the piano at the age of six. He liked the violin instead. Its fickleness was the challenge.

Mycroft glances at the beginner's book. "You didn't come to the funeral."

Sherlock ignores him and flops into his chair. He continues to follows his brother's eyes and movement like a lion watching its prey.

LINGERS ON JOHN'S CHAIR

SITS ON COUCH INSTEAD

LEANS FORWARD ON HIS UMBRELLA LIKE A CANE FOR SUPPORT

ALL THE BETTER TO SEE YOU MY DEAR BROTHER

"How long?"

"How long what?" Sherlock says, putting one hand in the pocket of his dressing gown absent-mindedly.

"How long will you endure it?"

"Endure… oh."

MYCROFT IS WATCHING HIS HAND FUMBLE IN THE DRESSING GOWN'S POCKET

"Sherlock - "

"If you want them so bad, come and take them. You did that many a year ago." Sherlock snaps at him.

Mycroft does not move. "Death will be the end of us all. It's an unfortunate part of life. Don't waste yours baby brother. He wouldn't want you to. You didn't cause thi-"

"Leave." Sherlock gestures to the door with his free hand. Mycroft sighs and leaves.

x-x-x-x-x-

His days blur together. Mrs. Hudson knocks. Sherlock ignores it. She eventually gives up and leaves food outside his door. When he is asleep, she somehow manages to tidy up the little mess he makes.

One day his curiosity and loneliness gets the better of him.

He walks up the stairs, but stops midway in the door like something is yanking him back by a chain.

The smells are intoxicating. It smells like his best friend. It does not smell like death or disease. Disease has not penetrated this room for over a month. Sherlock's room on the other hand smells like death and guilt. However, this room smells like John.

TEA

COTTON

NEWSPAPER INK

John is not on his bed, dead._ John is reading the newspaper. John is rolling his eyes. John is laughing. John is snoring._

Sherlock feels an odd sensation in his chest. It is tight. His eyes feel stinging at the corners. He pinches his eyes and blindly and walks out.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

His room on the other hand is ten times worse. His laptop is now dead and the charger is in his room, a place he has been avoiding. He tries to walk in with his eyes closed, using his other senses but it doesn't work. It's horrible.

He can still smell. He can still hear. He opens his eyes. They land on the night table. It is not his laptop charger… it is something else.

JOHN'S LAPTOP.

He immediately grabs it and dashes out of the room. Sitting cross-legged on the piano bench, rubbing his eyes, he flips open John's laptop.

The Internet history is very sparse, boring.

NEWSPAPER ARTICLES

SITCOM DOWNLOADS

TEA MIXES

FOOTBALL SCORES

THE SCIENCE OF DEDUCTION

Sherlock's mouth twitches. Guess his blog wasn't so boring after all. He goes on John's blog. John has not been logged out into writing new entries. The last new entry was two months ago about their last case they both worked. He does not mention that he is sick and will not be able to update this blog.

Out of curiosity he checks the draft just to see if John left a message, a note for himself. There's one… short. It's dated the day after Sherlock cut all of John's hair off. A month before his last post.

_Having Sherlock as a roommate is a blessing more than a curse these days. _

Sherlock blinks. It is a last gift from John. _John does not blame you_. His heart and mind do not ache as much.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

His phone buzzes at least once a day, probably more. Mycroft is always asking him if he's still alive and Lestrade is always wondering if he wants a case.

For both of these he responds, _NO COMMENT -SH_. They get the message.

He finds a new way to occupy his time. The object calls to him.

88 KEYS

52 WHITE KEYS

36 BLACK KEYS

Eventually, his mind begins to sooth itself. The chaotic mess of his mind is beginning to find a calming, repetitive pattern. At one time, he might have called it boring. He's not sure how to describe it now. It's still a pattern.

Play scales. Play. Play. Play. All the while his phone beeps with more text messages.

PLAY

_Got a case if you're interested -Lestrade_

PLAY

_Let's get a coffee -Molly_

PLAY

_I heard. I'm sorry. -Irene Adler_

PLAY

This pattern begins to change late in the night when people stop trying to text him. He's thankful real people sleep. He's also thankful that he no longer wants to sleep.

PLAY

Jots notes on scrap paper…

PLAY

_The memory of buzzing John's hair off…_

PLAY

Writes new notes on new clinical trials…

PLAY

_The memory of John's laugh…_

PLAY

Chemical notes and scribbles litter his books

PLAY

The pills sit on the top of the piano. Each day is a test and each day Sherlock beats it. They continue to sit there.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It's November.

THERE IS A PACKAGE BY THE DOOR.

It's December. Mrs. Hudson adds lights to 221B. He doesn't argue.

THE PACKAGE IS STILL BY THE DOOR.

It's January. Molly brings the package in and rips it open. He is about to argue, but decides better not to. He just watches her unpack the box.

IT'S A PIÑATA.

She hangs it up and begins to whack it. Sherlock sighs and soon joins in. They beat it to death as Lestrade walks in the door, carrying a case of beer.

_John, is this the kind of party you wanted me to have? _He takes another good whack at the piñata_. _Molly gives a whoop as Lestrade raises his beer. Sherlock hits it again._ Happy Birthday to me_.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It's February and Molly is back. She boxes John's things up. He continues to play. She doesn't ask him to help. At one point, he hears her voice. He can't block it out.

HESITANT

"Is this yours?" She says holding a pair of pajamas.

The back of Sherlock's head bobs.

YES.

"Have you been living… in his room?"

Sherlock does not turn around, but continues to play.

Molly sits on the edge of the piano.

"Sherlock, I just need -"

He pauses and says, still staring at the keys. "He died in my room."

SQUEEZE ON THE SHOULDER.

"Can you play Moonlight Sonata?"

"Of course."

The sound of the piano is a welcome distraction for both of them.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It's March and Lestrade comes over to drink a scotch.

As Lestrade unscrews the bottle, Sherlock notices something else.

A STACK OF MANILA FOLDERS

SCOTLAND YARD SYMBOL

"No."

"Come on."

"Why?"

"Anderson is crap."

Sherlock glances at the Detective Inspector.

LESTRADE IS LYING.

IF THIS WAS TRUE, LESTRADE WOULD'VE FIRED ANDERSON

LESTRADE KNOWS SHERLOCK'S WEAKNESS

He glances at the files.

"The watchmaker did it." Sherlock says pointing to the top file.

Lestrade laughs. "Cheers."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Sherlock never returns to a crime scene. He only continues to handle cases over a bottle of Scotch with Lestrade in the comfort of his own home.

They don't have the same drive anymore. Instead he's determined to find a cure, whatever it takes.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It's April when he walks back into St Bart's Morgue. As soon as he sees Molly, he wordlessly hands his research over to her. She glances at the first words and smiles. Sherlock grumbles and walks over to his usual microscope.

"I need some bodies. Tests."

Molly tries very hard not to smile wider as she uncovers a John Doe she has been saving for him.

This is also the month Sherlock sleeps in his room... after ordering all new furniture. It's a start.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It's May. Sherlock begrudgingly shows his work to the lead oncologist at St. Bart's. Molly forces him too. He needs more backing before he can test the drugs, she tells him.

The doctor recognizes Sherlock.

JOHN WATSON'S FRIEND

CONSULTANT DETECTIVE

MAN IS RAW, DIFFERENT, BRUISED

Sherlock snarls. "So are you going to take part or do I have to find some other oncologist? I'm only showing it to you first because - "

"Brilliant research. Yes, Mr. Holmes. I would love to work with you. I'll show it to my colleagues." He says.

They both knew the end of the sentence that Sherlock hadn't finished. _My best friend is dead and you were the cause of it. I was the cause of it. Not the disease. We couldn't save him. We let him die._

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It is still May.

Sherlock is so busy these days. He's always at St. Barts. He's always working. They, the medical professionals, say clinical trials cannot start until the beginning of the next year. More testing needs to be done.

Sherlock throws a fit in the morgue. He wishes he were sick so he could test it on himself.

This type of waiting kills, this bureaucracy, kills him. He is so impatient. He hears John laughing over his impatience in the back of his mind.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It is June.

Someone in the government has intervened. Clinical trials will start in the next month.

Sherlock's mouth twitches as his phone vibrates.

YOU OWE ME. -MH

Sherlock doesn't write back thanks. The Holmes Brothers don't do that. He just laughs as he tosses his phone up in the air and catches it. He is gleeful as he tells Molly the news.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It is July. July 6 to be exact. Tomorrow the clinical trials will start. Today though, Sherlock stays in 221 B. No one texts him. No one knocks out his door. He is thankful.

He sits at the piano. He arranges his feet onto the pedals. He places his fingers on the white keys.

He begins to play Bach's Prelude No. 1 all day, on repeat. Once it finishes, he plays it again...and again…and again. He wishes it were a longer song.

His phone alarm goes off.

MIDNIGHT

Sherlock closes his eyes, releasing his hands from the keys and places them in their usual steepled position, and says,

"Happy Birthday John."

Whether this life or the other life, one thing has not changed, it is the constant in both…. they are still best friends. They will always be best friends.

* * *

><p>I just want to thank everyone who started reading this story and continued it until the end. From all the reviews, the alerts, the favorites... thank you. I appreciate all your lovely words. I hope to read your own writings or in see you reading my fellow stories.<p>

Thanks again my fellow Sherlockians.

-J


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